


Where the City Meets the Sea

by Sierra



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future Fish, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, chef!haru, cop!Sousuke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-05-30 07:05:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6413839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sierra/pseuds/Sierra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haru’s hand curls at the nape of Sousuke’s neck, the gentle pressure of fingertips drawing him down the three inches between them.  Haru doesn’t meet him halfway, and Sousuke doesn’t expect him to. Haru just waits, patient like the flow of a river over time that smooths rocks and wears away the earth, for him to close the distance between their lips. The first press of his mouth to Haru’s is like fire dancing through his veins, like Haru’s fingers are reaching down into his chest and forcing out the low sound of need that reverberates through him.    </p><p>“Give, Sousuke.”  </p><p>Sousuke realises it for what it is: a command, not a request.</p><p>“No.”  </p><p>(OR: The newest addition to Rin’s team has a bone to pick with Nanase Haruka.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stakeout

Ten minutes before the lunch rush hour, chaos erupts.

And for once, it’s not because Nagisa has short-changed someone for the third time today or because there’s still a puddle on the floor that he can already hear Makoto scolding him for. It’s a quiet chaos, the kind Nagisa would usually welcome with open arms during the more boring parts of his day—when he’s supposed to be cleaning, writing down the excruciating minutiae of customer orders, or counting the cash in the register in preparation for closing up. He just doesn’t need _any_ chaos a mere ten minutes before he’s going to be up to his neck in hungry customers, on high alert for Momo disaster control, and acting as a human boomerang between the kitchen and the tables.

Nagisa is mid-sweep, dabbing the sweat from his cheek when the front door swings open. The bell chimes, heralding what would usually be the beginning of a quick-paced but satisfying afternoon. The person who walks through is anything but a pleasant sight: he fills the restaurant with a stormy presence, his face handsome but brooding, with eyes that could stun a man at twenty paces. All his features are twisted in something close to displeasure, like someone swapped his morning coffee for something totally devoid of caffeine. He’s tall— _really_ tall, like able-to-see-over-the-top-of-the-toilet-door tall—and before Nagisa can blink, he’s standing in front of the register.

The door clangs again, and there are hurried footsteps. Another man who Nagisa does recognise comes in after the first man, flustered and a little red-faced.

“Sousuke, what the hell?” Rin demands, pausing to catch his breath as he braces a hand on the doorframe, holding the other to his chest. He stalks inside with a scowl. “Since when was it a smart idea to jump out of a moving—oh,” he says, noticing Nagisa. “Yo, Nagisa.” Rin grins at him, moving from zero to a hundred miles an hour. “How’s it going?”

Nagisa beams, waving in greeting. “Great!” His gaze flits uncertainly to the other man; he still seems as unimpressed as he did when he barged in moments before. Rin rubs the back of his neck, his eyes turning back to the man he’d followed in. “So, Rin-chan, are—are you guys here for lunch? The special today is seared tuna and…”

“That’s not why we’re here,” the other man interrupts, frowning.

Nagisa catches a glimpse of the badge pinned to the pocket of his neat, crisp blue shirt. _Officer Yamazaki Sousuke_? Nagisa throws a questioning glance at Rin, noticing for the first time that Sousuke and Rin are dressed in the same uniform, carbon copies of each other except for hair, height, and demeanour. Sousuke has nicer eyes, too, but Nagisa knows Rin will strangle him if he ever lets _that_ slip.

His smile brightens. “Is this a friend of yours, Rin-chan?”

Rin snorts, thumping Sousuke’s arm. “If you can call it that, yeah. This is Sousuke. He’s my partner.” When Nagisa’s mouth forms a small ‘o’, Rin hastily shuts down that train of thought with a violent shake of his head. “Not like _that_. Sousuke’s only been in our district for a couple of weeks, so I’m showing him the ropes now he’s done the probationary time at HQ.”

“Is that why I haven’t met him yet?” Nagisa says with an obvious up-and-down sweep of Sousuke’s form, his curiosity unbridled.

“He’s not civilised enough for most people,” Rin explains, tilting his head towards his partner with an air of exasperation, but also obvious fondness. “As you can see. Now, come on, Sousuke. We’ve gotta get back to—”

“Not before I’ve settled this.”

Nagisa blinks. “A bill?”

“My steak,” Sousuke says through his teeth.

“Steak?” Nagisa echoes in confusion, glancing at Rin for enlightenment and receiving only a slump of Rin’s shoulders in response.

He smiles at Sousuke again, holding out his hands in what he hopes is a conciliating gesture. It’s wasted on Sousuke, who’s staring intently over the top of Nagisa’s head towards the window separating the front counter from the kitchen, where Momo is working, humming away to himself. Ai is back there, too; he’s on a break, but he’s probably helping Momo with organising lunch preparations.

“What was wrong with your steak, Sou-chan?”

The nickname breaks Sousuke out of his staring competition with the back of Momo’s head. He blinks, the scowl melting away. It’s replaced by slow-dawning disbelief. The ensuing silence makes Nagisa wonder, for a panicked moment, if he’s overstepped some invisible nickname boundary, and he’s about to die a slow death as a result of strangulation.

 _At least it’ll be quick_ , Nagisa can hear Haru saying, ever the pragmatist. _His hands are the size of bear paws._

Sousuke’s eyebrows furrow. “Sou…chan?”

Behind Sousuke, Rin’s shoulders are shaking with silent laughter but he makes a choked sound against the hand over his mouth. Sousuke shoots him a murderous stare over his shoulder, and Rin’s laughter stops short. Rin wipes the corner of his eye off with the collar of his shirt, grinning as he plants a hand on his hip.

“That is your name, right?” Nagisa says with a winning smile, throwing in a wink for good measure. “So, what was the problem?”

Sousuke’s gaze returns to the kitchen again, a distant, faraway look in his eyes. “I want to speak to the head chef.”

Nagisa furtively sends Rin a look of _help_. Rin is familiar enough with the restaurant’s routine by now to know that, when Haru turns up for the start of his shift, he’s been out of bed for a grand total of two hours. Haru is not a morning person like Nagisa or Ai. He’s not an afternoon or evening person either, but Haru’s sociability correlates directly with hours spent awake. Everyone who works at the Green Dolphin steers clear of him until around 5PM, at which point his equilibrium usually restores itself with enough mackerel and silence.

“He isn’t in today,” Nagisa says in a rush. He tries another smile, but Sousuke’s focus hasn’t shifted an inch.

Any other time of day and Nagisa would encourage Sousuke to have a seat, tell him to wait for Haru to rouse himself, give him a free coffee to tide him over—just not right before lunch. When he arrives, sleepy-eyed and still lethargic, Haru will have enough on his plate, literally and figuratively, with Momo’s daily torrent of questions and a dozen orders to make before he even has a chance to get his apron on. The last thing Haru needs is to deal with a surly police officer, and not the one he’s used to. Sousuke makes Rin—even at his most cantankerous—look like a kitten by comparison.

“Could you come in tomorrow?” Nagisa gives a helpless smile. “I’m sure it’d be fine for you to talk to him then.”

For a long moment, it seems as if Sousuke might refuse. Nagisa stifles a loud sigh of relief when Rin curls a hand around Sousuke’s elbow and gives him a tug. _Thank you, Rin-chan._

“Our break is almost over, anyway. Let’s go.”

“Fine,” Sousuke says, relenting. He lets himself be pulled away, but at the door he stops suddenly, and the whiplash almost sends Rin face-first into the glass. “Tomorrow.”

* * *

“Keys,” Rin says, trying to keep his voice level and failing. Instead, he redirects his irritation with Sousuke into force as he slams the car door shut.

The squad car rocks in its stationary position, but Sousuke doesn’t seem to notice as he drops into the passenger side. Digging around in his pocket unhurriedly, Sousuke snags the car keys on a finger before tossing them to Rin with equal force. Rin’s hand stings as he catches the keys and fumbles for a moment. Scowling, Rin picks the correct one from the mass of keys in Sousuke’s collection.

When they get back to headquarters, Rin’s going to exert the authority his rank—higher than Sousuke’s—allows him and order Sousuke to cut down on the goddamn keys. The keyring feels heavier than a paperweight, and if Seijuro catches wind of _any_ potential OHS hazards, both of them will be in hot water. Rin doesn’t particularly feel like sticking his neck out for Sousuke’s sake after that little performance, either. Clearly, he hasn’t been strict enough with Sousuke since his transfer to the Samezuka department, since he completely railroaded Rin’s earlier instruction. It was unequivocal: do _not_ go charging into his friend’s restaurant with guns blazing over a bit of underdone steak.

Sousuke pulls a cap on and drags it down over his eyes. The glare of the sun is bothering Rin, too, but Sousuke’s attitude grates on him more. Rin tugs down the sunshade a bit irritably, waiting for Sousuke to take a hint and apologise for his less-than-sociable conduct.

“You going to start the car, or just keep staring at me? We’re due back by twelve-thirty.”

“Oh, you remember _that_?” Rin says darkly. “Figures.”

Turning the key in the ignition, he tears his eyes away from Sousuke and glares over the dashboard. The engine rumbling to life fills the silence, and Rin sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “You know, you could have just let it go or given them a bad review on Yelp instead of demanding to talk to Haru. Trust me, that won’t get you anywhere with him. The steak was less than ten bucks,” he adds with a frown. “It’s hardly worth mentioning.”

“Some of us don’t like our food still having a pulse.”

Rin feels a flush creeping over the back of his neck. He grits out, “Rare is not _raw_. It tastes better with a little juice, so what!”

“Blood,” Sousuke corrects, folding his arms and slouching in the seat, looking less like a man who thinks he narrowly avoided a brush with death via food poisoning and more like a petulant child (or dog) who’s been told he can’t ride shotgun. “Sorry I’m not as lax with my health as you.”

Rin tries to count to five. He only makes it to two. “I like Haru and the guys,” he retorts. “And the food. Don’t ruin this for me.”

Sousuke regards him from under the brim of the cap, grinning. “I don’t need to do anything. Given time, you’ll just ruin it yourself.”

Reaching over, Rin pinches Sousuke’s cheek and pulls it hard, relishing in the pained grunt that follows. Unable to help the answering grin spreading over his own face, Rin declares, “I’ll send you right back to Tokitsu if you don’t clean up your act _quick_ , Sousuke.”

Just the name of his former division puts an end to the conversation. Rin counts it as a win.

* * *

Makoto’s vanilla milkshake sits in front of him, half-finished; most of the froth has dissolved. He’s been gazing at Nagisa for the last forty-five seconds, uncharacteristically scrutinising and silent, chin propped in a hand. Makoto flicks at the straw thoughtfully.

“What is it, Nagisa?” he questions, just as Nagisa’s pulse is about to jump through the roof. Makoto taps the side of Nagisa’s cup; there’s double-strawberry sauce with ice cream inside, which Haru whipped up for him as a post-work treat, and he has yet to touch it. That’s probably why Makoto has been openly examining Nagisa for some sign of sickness since he wandered into the restaurant twenty minutes ago, reeking of smoke and his nose dusted with soot. He’s still in the orange and black coveralls, the sleeves hiked up to his elbows.

Nagisa dips a spoon into the ice cream, blending it with the sauce.

“Nagisa,” Makoto insists, firmer this time.

“It’s awful, Mako-chan.” The spoon drops from his hand, and Makoto leans forward, eyes wide, hanging on to every word. Nagisa’s forehead touches the table as he whispers to it, “Haru-chan is going to have to retire.”

Makoto blinks owlishly. “Retire?” He laughs into the back of his hand. “Haru loves cooking! He’d never retire.”

“He would if he was in trouble with the law,” Nagisa says solemnly, cheek and lips mashed against the tabletop, warping the words.

In his shock, Makoto nearly falls out of the booth, gripping the edge of the table with both hands to catch himself. The colour drains from his face.

“Nagisa,” Makoto says, in the austere tone he only uses when Gou is trying to talk him out of his clothes for the Iwatobi Fire Department’s annual charity calendar, or Haru’s attempting to make a break for the nearest body of water in the middle of a conversation. “ _Talk_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been itching to SouHaru, so HEY FUTURE FISH 
> 
> Not sure how long this fic will end up being, exactly, but expect weekly updates, as I'm two chapters ahead of posting schedule. 
> 
> [sierrasuke.tumblr.com](http://sierrasuke.tumblr.com/) and [@sierrasuke at twitter](https://twitter.com/sierrasuke). Please yell at me about SouHaru (and/or Sousuke, Rin, SouRin, Free)! I'm always happy to chat. 
> 
> Feedback is always welcome. Thanks for reading!


	2. Offshore

By the time Nagisa finishes reciting the ballad of _Sousuke and the Steak_ to Makoto, he’s out of breath from the taxing effort of gesticulating and re-enacting Sousuke’s James-Dean routine. Forcing his mouth into such a deep frown has strained muscles he didn’t know existed, and his arms are still crossed firmly in an imitation of Sousuke.

“And that,” Nagisa announces, seating himself, “is what happened.”

Across from him, Makoto looks like he’s just been informed of a global chocolate shortage, face ashen and hands at his temples. “So…you’re telling me that Haru…”

Nagisa may have embellished a little, cut a few corners, taken a few creative liberties, left out a few important details and added others in, but he’s a firm believer in compelling stories and providing for his audience. The truth of the matter would have put Makoto to sleep, because even if it’s Sousuke knocking down their door over food quality, Haru is more than capable of handling himself. Truthfully, Nagisa is more concerned about how this will end for Sousuke, and Rin by extension.

Rin has become a familiar face since he met Haru down by the beach one fateful night six months ago. Nobody knows what happened between them—not even Makoto, in all his infinite Haru-wisdom. Rin is one of two people who can coax a smile out of Haru—a real one, always edged with a challenge and sparking the air around them with electricity. Haru’s eyes light up when Rin comes through the door in silent response to some intangible thing between them. There’s a homoerotic element to it, something almost Brokeback Mountain-esque in nature. The only time Nagisa brought that up with Rin, he found himself face-first in Rin’s chest, shoved into a headlock so tight he felt it for days, and the scent of Rin’s oversweet cologne is now burned into his olfactory bulb.

Makoto makes a distressed sound. “What are we going to do? I’m working tomorrow, so I can’t be here to stop them.”

“You can’t stop the police.” Letting out a defeated sigh, Nagisa lowers his voice. “Haru-chan’s crimes have finally caught up to him.”

“I know, but I can’t believe…” Sighing, Makoto pushes the milkshake across the table. Nagisa finishes the remnants, before banging the glass back down on the table and standing abruptly. Makoto looks up at him, a bit lost and forlorn at the prospect of his best friend being extracted from his kitchen, handcuffed, and forcibly dragged into the back of a police car, but there’s a hopeful glint in his eyes. “Nagisa?”

Nagisa almost regrets giving the story a twist to suit his own tastes. He has faith in Haru’s talent for defusing situations, if only because his lack of reactivity can bore _anyone_ to tears, a method proven effective on even the likes of Momo. Nagisa counts it as a small miracle that he’s seen Momo stunned to silence, all of his boundless energy drained in a futile effort to sway Haru to his cause of refurbishing the restaurant into a stag beetle café, complete with petting station and observation deck.

“I won’t let them take him, Mako-chan,” Nagisa declares, and Makoto’s face relaxes into its usual, placid smile.

“I should warn Haru,” Makoto muses after a pause, looking pensive. “Then he can—”

“No!” Nagisa flounders for an excuse, shaking his head vigorously. “Bad idea. _Terrible_ idea. If he escapes, they’ll charge him with evading the law, too, and then he’ll never stand a chance!”

Makoto’s eyes get rounder with every word. A moment passes before he nods in agreement. “You’re right. But you have to promise me, Nagisa.”

“Just leave it to me, Mako-chan,” Nagisa says in a hushed whisper. The conspiratorial edge to his voice pulls Makoto in, and he leans across the table to catch the rest: “I have a plan.”

* * *

The next day, Nagisa is in the middle of taking down an order when his skin prickles. He glances over his shoulder in time to see Sousuke striding through the front door like he owns the restaurant, a jacket slung over his shoulder and aviators over his eyes, which do nothing to mask the slight scowl that doesn’t seem to have left his face since yesterday. Nagisa tucks the notepad away into his apron and looks past Sousuke for any sign of Rin. He finds none, which is something of a major inconvenience, since Rin seems to have a semi-effective leash on Sousuke.

At least today Sousuke has chosen late afternoon instead of lunchtime. Haru is almost guaranteed to be in a decent enough mood to deal with a customer complaint. The fact it’s coming from a contradicting combination of Rin’s friend and disgruntled law enforcement just makes it a little more interesting.

“Hi, Sou-chan,” he says, intercepting Sousuke before he can get to the register. Momo is there by himself, and so far from equipped to deal with the impending situation that Nagisa can’t hand Sousuke over to him in good faith; Momo hasn’t even broken a single thing this week. “Did you come here straight from work? Is Rin-chan coming, too?”

Sousuke gazes down at Nagisa through the aviators, his mouth still a firm line. “Rin had some paperwork to take care of.” He’s already scanning over the top of Nagisa’s head again. “Is he here?”

“Is who here?”

“Your memory can’t be that short,” Sousuke mutters, appearing more or less irritated. It looks virtually the same as the last expression, give or take the twitch of an eyebrow and the drop to his tone that Nagisa translates as _don’t fucking push me_. “Rin said you graduated with first class honours, Hazuki.”

“Did he?” More than a little delighted, Nagisa beams. “That’s tr—” Catching himself, he stands to attention. “Oh, you mean Haru-chan?”

“Get him.”

“One minute,” Nagisa says, winking before he slips through the doors of the kitchen. From one of the sinks, Ai blinks at him, pausing mid-scrub.

“Aren’t you on the floor today?”

“I am, I am.” Nagisa stands on his toes to see over one of the metal dividers that separate the preparation area, stoves, and ovens from the stockrooms. “Momo has it covered for now. Where’s Haru-chan? It’s an emergency!”

“An emergency?” Startled, Ai drops the pan he’s been washing, arms covered in suds. “What kind of emergency?! A fire? Oh, _god_ , what did you do—”

Quickly, Nagisa claps a hand over Ai’s mouth before he can start calling out and creating totally unnecessary panic. _This is under complete control_ , Nagisa tells himself resolutely, before whispering to Ai, “Kinda like fire, just hotter and a lot meaner. Look out there.”

Ai does as he’s told, ducking a bit with Nagisa’s hand still over his mouth. He tears it away a second later, and his eyes widen. “Who is he?”

“He wants to talk to Haru-chan,” Nagisa says soberly. “About steak.” He takes Ai by the shoulders and gives him a shake. “This is life or death, Ai-chan!”

“What is?”

Jumping in unison, Nagisa and Ai spin around. Haru is standing there, knotting the ties of his apron behind his lower back. When they both remain silent, he rests one hand on a hip and stares at them. “Nagisa. Ai,” he says slowly. “What is?”

“Um,” Nagisa says after Ai elbows him. “Rin’s friend. He’s out the front.”

“Tell him to wait.”

“I don’t think he’s the waiting type, Haru-chan. I already sent him away yesterday, and…”

Haru sighs. “Just say it.”

Nagisa snags the back of Ai’s shirt before he can make an escape. “He wants to make a complaint.”

He’s seen Haru coloured in every shade of a bad mood, from low-level irritation caused by Momo’s clumsiness, all the way through to a quiet and terrifying food-fight-induced anger at the sight of the kitchen covered from floor to wall in pancake batter and the better part of a three-pound bag of sprinkles.

The expression that crosses Haru’s face is new: affronted. It slides away after a heartbeat.

“Bring him in,” Haru says equably, pulling a breadboard from the shelf as he takes out an especially sharp knife. “Let’s see what he has to say.”

Ai is stuttering a bit, arms still soapy as Nagisa urges him out of the kitchen, retrieving his phone from a pocket and finding Rin’s number. He sends a simple, effective: _If you have any last words for Sou-chan, now is the time!_

* * *

One of Nagisa’s feet is falling asleep. Beside him, Ai is fidgeting, wringing his hands and looking everywhere but the spectacle unfolding in front of them.

It’s been over a minute since Sousuke or Haru have moved or blinked. They’ve just been staring each other down, Sousuke with both hands shoved in his pockets, one foot tucked in front of the other where he leans against the wall, and Haru is stock-still, hands frozen mid-slice. It’s apparently a stalemate, though Nagisa suspects Sousuke could be cheating, because he’s still wearing the aviators. The lenses are so tinted that not even the bright teal of Sousuke’s eyes is visible; just the strong line of his eyebrows, creased and drawn down.

On the other hand, Haru’s eyes haven’t budged an inch since Sousuke came through the swinging doors, looking left and right for the source of his ire. He’d found it soon enough when Haru glanced up at the disruption and their eyes met, and now he and Haru are locked in a contest to see whose aqueous fluid will dry up first. Personally, Nagisa likes Haru’s odds of winning better: if the average human is seventy percent water, Haru is closer to eighty-five.

“Sou-chan,” Nagisa ventures, sounding as cheerful as he can manage, given the subarctic temperature. “You should tell Haru-chan what the problem is so he can…”

“The problem,” Sousuke cuts in, breaking the unanimous, temporary vow of silence, “is that you gave me undercooked steak.”

Haru raises the knife, studies Sousuke for a heart-stopping moment, and then starts quartering a clove of garlic without looking at it. Nagisa worries Haru might accidentally sever a fingertip, but Haru’s movements are so self-assured and smooth that the concern blows over as soon as Haru makes short work of three cloves, then four. His eyes dispassionately regard Sousuke all the while, like he’s watching Sousuke deliver a weather forecast.

“Nothing I make is undercooked.”

“This was,” Sousuke insists. “Almost made me sick.”

At that, Haru stops again. His hand hovers over the breadboard, and Nagisa sees a definite flicker of annoyance when Haru’s brows crease. “What day?”

“Tuesday.”

“Time?”

“Eleven.”

“At night,” Haru states. _Who does that?_ is implied in the sudden, dull thud of the knife.

Sousuke tears off the aviators. “In the _morning_.”

Haru’s head tilts, probably measuring the distance between the knife in his hand and Sousuke’s jugular. Rin’s friend or not, nobody has ever insulted Haru’s cooking before, and Nagisa could normally predict what might happen in another instance. Haru’s face is closed for business, back to its normal indifference.

“I wasn’t here,” Haru says, dropping his gaze. He’s already made his way through two celery stalks and a handful of carrots, fingers scraping them off the edge of the board into a bowl. “Not my problem.”

“The only reason I’m not making a fuss—”

Nagisa has to wonder what Sousuke entails as a fuss. Because if storming the building like it’s a police raid, demanding to see Haru _pronto_ (and having the nerve to flash his badge at Momo when he balked), and then barging into the back kitchen _isn’t_ Sousuke’s idea of a fuss, Nagisa doesn’t know what to call it.

“—Is because you’re friends with Rin. He said to go easy on you. Or _else_ ,” Sousuke says with an inflection that suggests how little he thinks of Rin’s threats.

“Is that so he won’t cry? Don’t use Rin as an excuse.”

A muscle works in Sousuke’s jaw as he tucks the aviators into the front pocket of his shirt. _Samezuka Police Department_ is emblazoned over the top of it, and Nagisa wonders if Haru will lodge a complaint with Sousuke’s bosses in return, just to spite him. He makes a note to himself to plant the idea in Haru’s head later.

“Don’t avoid the point.”

Glancing up with an almost-imperceptible frown, Haru edges the tip of the knife at Sousuke. “I didn’t cook it.”

Blinking, Nagisa does the calculations in his head, whirring back to the conversation thirty seconds earlier.

“Then who _did_?” Sousuke demands.

The knife tip slides from Sousuke to the left, towards the barrier between the kitchen and the front register, where—

“Momo!” Nagisa blurts, slamming his hands down on the countertop. Ai jolts, and so does the breadboard, and Haru’s eyes roll up to focus on the ceiling. “It was Momo, Sou-chan! Haru-chan doesn’t start work until two on Tuesdays.”

Sousuke follows Nagisa’s point, where a shock of red hair is just visible. He frowns. “Changes nothing.”

“It changes everything.” Another decisive _thud_. Half a potato goes rolling off the counter, and Ai scrambles to catch it. “He’s off cooking duties.”

Nagisa nearly whines in protest, because that means more work for _him_.

“Come back tomorrow,” Haru says, as if that’s the matter solved. He waves the knife around to dismiss Sousuke from the kitchen, and Nagisa automatically ducks a bit. Sousuke completely misses the sidelong look Haru gives his back, because he’s already started to leave, digging his aviators out of his pocket. He slips them back on, and pauses with one hand on the door as Haru adds, “And don’t bring Rin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the feedback on the first chapter! I'm super happy there's interest in this fic, since it was a silly idea I cooked up on a very long plane trip, ahaha. 
> 
> This will be the last of Nagisa!pov for a while, sadface. Another chapter should be out by the end of this week! As always, feedback is very welcome. 
> 
> [sierrasuke.tumblr.com](http://sierrasuke.tumblr.com/) and [@sierrasuke at twitter](https://twitter.com/sierrasuke)


	3. Slicker Than Your Average

“Makoto.”

“Hm?”

“The rice is burning.”

Unceremoniously, Makoto scrambles to his feet to find the water in the pot bubbling over, and the edges of the rice charred. In his haste to salvage the rest, he forgets to use a kitchen towel to take the scorching pot off the stovetop and scalds his hand. With a wince, he flicks the heat off and goes to the sink to run the burnt side of his hand under cold water. The relief is instant, and Makoto glances at Haru who, despite the commotion, is still cutting up tomatoes on the other side of the kitchen.

“Sorry,” he says with a sigh. “That’s going to leave a mark.” He grabs up a paper towel to dry himself off and disposes of it.

Seconds later, Haru appears at his side, a hand outstretched. “Show me.”

Gingerly, Makoto lays his hand in Haru’s. He bites down a noise when Haru’s fingers skim the deep red of the burn, his eyes evaluating it.

“It’s superficial,” Haru says, opening the door of the cupboard just above their heads. He frowns at the small kit on the second shelf, just a few inches too high for him to reach, before gazing at Makoto. Makoto smiles, nods, and leans up to retrieve it, handing it off to Haru. The kit has antiseptic, bandages, tubes of varying sizes, and enough pain medication to sedate even Nagisa. Haru unscrews the lid of a small, red jar. “It just needs ointment.”

“Haru, you don’t have to…”

“Be quiet, Makoto.”

“Okay,” he agrees, trying not to pull his hand away as Haru swipes some of the balm over the burn. It smells faintly of coconut, and it soothes the sting within a few moments.

Haru tosses the jar back into the kit and closes it. “You were distracted.” When Makoto doesn’t offer an explanation, instead averting his gaze and clearing his throat, Haru tries something else, tried and true: “Now I have to cook more.”

“Sorry,” Makoto says reflexively. “I’ll do it again, it’s—”

“Makoto,” Haru interjects, placing a hand on Makoto’s shoulder. He’s unusually strong for someone of his size and occupation, so Makoto obediently takes a seat at the kitchen table when he’s directed to. Then Haru throws away the pot’s burned contents and starts the process again with two cups of fresh, unspoiled rice. While they wait, he cracks two eggs into a bowl and starts whisking.

Words press at the edge of Makoto’s tongue. He isn’t sure how much longer he can stay silent; they don’t keep things from each other. Mostly because Makoto doesn’t know _how_ to, so silencing himself now feels wrong, and it makes him uneasy. He glances over at Haru, biting his lip.

Haru won’t push—he never does—but the conversation with Nagisa has been weighing on Makoto. He heard nothing from Nagisa all day, and even got reprimanded by his sergeant for checking his phone one too many times in the hopes there was a message, a missed call, _something_ , before he forced himself to stash the phone in his locker. The majority of his break was spent repeatedly dialling Nagisa’s number, but it went to voicemail every time. The afternoon had dragged on twice as slowly as the morning as he let his imagination run rampant, imagining a hundred different scenarios. After the end of his shift, Makoto had sprinted the two miles from the fire department to the restaurant and thrown open the doors with a crash to find Haru in the middle of closing up the register, one eyebrow raised at him.

Leaving it in Nagisa’s hands might have been a mistake, but Nagisa is always hatching elaborate plans and schemes for his pranks, and Makoto knows he can trust Nagisa’s quick thinking in almost any situation. And Haru, he reasons, isn’t sitting in a jail cell down at Samezuka awaiting trial. Haru is where he belongs: in the kitchen of his home—the apartment built atop the restaurant—doing what he does every night: making dinner for the two of them. He seems perfectly at ease, the way he does when the day has gone smoothly; his hands move through practiced motions like it’s second nature. His shoulders are relaxed, his eyes clear and bright.

“Haru,” Makoto says without thinking.

Haru tilts his head to indicate he’s listening. “Hm?”

Makoto knows how transparent he is when it comes to something that’s bothering him, and how easily distracted he can be from what’s happening right in front of him. Haru already sees through it. As always, he’s ready to wait, patient in his own way. Makoto doesn’t think Haru will appreciate a second aborted attempt at cooking tonight, so it’s better to put it everything on the table now, before the guilt of keeping something from Haru eats him alive.

“I was distracted,” he admits, smiling sheepishly when Haru turns a knowing look of _duh_ on him. “Sorry. I was wondering about something Nagisa said.”

That isn’t exactly outside the realm of normalcy, so Haru just nods. “Everyone wonders,” he says dryly, “about Nagisa.”

Makoto laughs softly. “It wasn’t so much Nagisa.” He’s tempted to add _for once_. “It’s what he was implying.”

“Rei _does_ wear underwear,” Haru says, matter-of-fact. “Don’t listen to him.”

“N-no, that’s not what… Why would Nagisa even know—” Makoto cuts himself off with a shake of his head, refocusing on the precise issue with Nagisa’s words. “He said you’re…”

Haru keeps beating the eggs, wiping a yolk-spattered wrist off on his apron. “I’m?”

Taking a breath, Makoto prepares himself for Haru’s inevitable escape attempt. He can easily outrun Haru if he takes the ocean route again, but Haru has a knack for fitting in and out of small spaces Makoto is just too big for, and the apartment is full of them. The bathroom is also close enough that Haru could just make a dash for the hallway and safely lock himself inside in a matter of seconds. He would probably have time to start running himself a hot bath before Makoto could even stumble out of his chair, and then it’ll be hours before Haru returns to the real world from his aquatic refuge. “Nagisa said that the police came to talk to you today, that they’re going to lock you up for—”

The sounds of mixing cease. Haru looks over his shoulder slowly, as if to make sure he’s heard correctly, one eyebrow arched in silent question.

“Didn’t they?” Suddenly hesitant, Makoto pauses. The more he thinks about it, the less it makes _sense_ , and it occurs to him that there might have been a very good reason for Nagisa _not_ answering his calls. “If you were in trouble, Haru, you should have—!”

“I’m not in trouble.”

“You’re not?” Makoto asks, a hopeful note in his voice. “Then—?”

“I said not to listen to him,” Haru says, and the clang of the whisk on the bowl brings Makoto’s thoughts colliding to a stop.

* * *

For the fourth time in twenty minutes, Rin re-adjusts the pile of papers slowly creeping over the thick line of white chalk that separates his side of the desk from Sousuke’s. Opposite him, Sousuke has his feet kicked up; his arms are crossed, eyes closed, head tilted comfortably against the leather chair. He’s been asleep for forty-five minutes, and it’s the most peace Rin has had in weeks. It’s a hell of a lot easier to get things done while Sousuke is unconscious. No constant questioning of his methods, no early 2000s hip hop blaring from Sousuke’s earbuds. It’s close to serene, if he discounts the occasional crackling snore.

The fact there’s a serious shortage of desks big enough to accommodate Sousuke at HQ is embarrassing enough on its own, but the fact Rin now has to share his office with Sousuke is twice so—at least until alternative arrangements can be made for a custom-made table, and a room can be cleared for Sousuke’s use. Considering the size of Lieutenant Mikoshiba Seijuro, there should be at _least_ one spare leviathan-sized desk.

Rin and Sousuke are already the laughing stock of the division because of their constant squabbling. It’s just like when they were kids, down to the rock-paper-scissors matches that were once over cola, but are now for driving rights. Rin keeps winning, and he’s starting to wonder if Sousuke is losing on purpose, because he's developed a habit of falling asleep on car rides, seemingly untroubled every time he has to surrender the car keys to Rin.

Rin signs off a timesheet, adding it to the in-tray. “Oi.”

When Sousuke doesn’t stir, Rin picks up a stray pen and flings it at Sousuke. It catches him in the jaw, and he groans, legs dropping from the table as he pulls himself upright. "What time is it?"

“Too early for you to be slacking off,” Rin chides, jabbing at Sousuke’s pile of paperwork—three days’ worth, still untouched. “Finish that so we can get out of here.”

“When’s it due?”

“Were you listening in the meeting?” Exasperated, Rin points at the desk calendar. The bold red letters are perfectly legible, even if they were scribbled at a forty-five degree angle while Rin was on the phone to another department about a potential collaboration on a case. “Saturday.”

Sousuke snorts. “It’s Monday.”

“And I always submit my paperwork _on time_ ,” Rin says, punctuating it with a few raps of the end of the pen.

Sousuke heaves a sigh and starts sorting through the papers, reading over a few and setting them aside in yet another disorganised pile. They lapse into silence. The scratching of Sousuke’s pen over paper is so distracting that Rin almost wishes he would go back to sleep. He’s tempted to gather up his own things and finish the rest of his work in the relative quiet of the squad car—he might be uncomfortable and a little hot, but it would at least foster some productivity. Being in a cramped office with Sousuke is like sharing a dorm room with him all over again.

Rin still remembers all the things about Sousuke that drive him up the wall—his ability to fall asleep anywhere and everywhere, the chaos he calls a workspace.

There are other things on his mind. First and foremost, what the _hell_ Nagisa’s text was about. Rin already knows where Sousuke disappeared to this afternoon when he should have been taking care of other business—namely, writing up reports and processing them before Seijuro can get on their backs, and acting like a responsible person with a full-time job in a line of work that requires a lot of time spent at a desk and _patience_ , which Rin is fast running out of. Best friend or not, Sousuke is part of _his_ team now, and Rin has always run a tight ship.

His eyes dart up to Sousuke. “I take it you didn’t hear a fucking word I said.”

With a lifted brow, Sousuke curls the edge of a paper. “I’m working, aren’t I?”

“You know what I’m talking about, Sousuke.”

Sousuke ticks off a couple of boxes on a declaration form. “Yeah, I went back there and sorted it out. That a problem?”

“I told you _why_ it’s a problem. You can’t just go around—”

“But I did.” Sousuke rests his chin in a hand, twirling the pen between his fingers. “No harm done. I found the perp.”

Rin actually drops his pen and stares. _Found the perp?_

Maybe the last couple of weeks Sousuke has spent indoors—learning the ins and outs, the protocols, and gradually integrating himself within the team—have had the opposite effect. Rin thought some downtime would be beneficial for Sousuke, a change of pace from the field. As far as Sousuke’s transfer paperwork shows, he was part of the highway patrol and participated in the gang intelligence unit. In his last six months at Tokitsu, Sousuke was a high-ranking member of the narcotics investigation team, and he’d been promoted to commanding officer after a series of successful raids. There’s a long list of accolades to his name, and he came with glowing recommendations from both of the superintendents.

Tokitsu is renowned for the quality of its officers, and as far as Rin can tell, Sousuke was the perfect asset to it, but he had specifically requested a transfer to Samezuka, for reasons still unknown. Rin has been trying to get out of Samezuka for so long that he can’t imagine why anyone would want to get _in_ , least of all a person as decorated with accomplishments as Sousuke. Whatever the reasoning, whatever demented logic behind the choice, Rin knows it will stay private, because Sousuke has always been secretive as fuck.

When the words find him, Rin frowns. “And how the hell did you _sort it_?”

“Your friend told me to come back,” Sousuke says, mouth curling into a smirk. “For some reason.”

“Haru did?” Bewildered, Rin blinks. “Fine. I’ll go with you. Make sure you haven’t done any lasting damage.”

“Actually, he—Haru, was it?—said not to bring you.”

_Oh, fuck no._

“I’ve had enough of your bullshit, Sousuke,” Rin seethes, sliding the lock screen of his phone and pulling up Haru’s number from his favourite contacts. He taps the call button, then the speaker icon, and places the phone on the table between them. It rings high and loud, and Rin glares across at Sousuke. “I’m gonna set this straight.”

Sousuke shrugs. “His words, not mine.”

On the third ring, someone picks up. A lively, upbeat voice says, “Hello?”

“Nagisa?” Rin demands. “Why do you have Haru’s—ugh, nevermind. Put him on.”

“Rin-chan! Sure, he’s right here.”

There's muffled words, a mournful _Haru-chan!_ , and what sounds like the phone getting thrown back and forth a few times before Nagisa returns, sounding petulant.

“He said,” and the tone of Nagisa’s voice flatlines quicker than a heartrate monitor following cardiac arrest, “if this is about tonight, you’re still not allowed to come.”

Sousuke’s lips curl into a tiny, victorious smirk. With that point of contention settled, he laces his fingers together behind his head, and sits back. Rin ignores him, getting closer to the phone so his next words will be amplified. “Ask him what the hell that means!”

“Hold on.” The line goes quiet. The vein in Rin’s temple throbs with every silent second. “It means what it means,” Nagisa intones, and it's so vague, so circuitous, and so very _Haru_ that Rin doesn’t doubt for a moment those were his exact words, even with Nagisa’s talent for creating trouble out of thin air.

Rin grumbles under his breath, about to hang up when Nagisa adds, “And he wants Sou-chan here tonight at eight.”

Rin slams the end call button, opens a drawer, sweeps the phone inside and slams it shut again. He doesn’t have to look at Sousuke to know what his face is doing—he can _feel_ his lips curving into a pout, his eyebrows scrunching together tightly. The weight of Sousuke’s gaze is heavy, so it’s not long before his eyes slowly creep upwards. The self-satisfied expression on Sousuke’s face makes Rin want to put it straight through a wall.

“Hope that puts it to rest.” Sousuke sounds like he has something else to add, something _annoying_. Rin starts to cut him off, but the text tone on his phone goes off, and he blinks, sliding the drawer open again. A message from Haru is on the lock screen. In all likelihood, Nagisa typed it, because Haru wouldn’t use emojis, even held at gunpoint.

 **NANASE, H** : It’s rude not to let people finish, Rin-chan! Meet ‘me’ on Wednesday at the usual spot. ୧ʕ•̀ᴥ•́ʔ୨

With a sulk, Rin glances up at Sousuke. The addendum takes some of the sting away from being so obviously _excluded_ , but he still has a plethora of budding questions for Sousuke, even if there’s zero chance of dragging any actual answers from him. He exhales a sigh. “Yeah, I get it. You’re on your own.”

“Boys, boys, boys.”

Rin turns sharply to face the door and nearly knocks his knee on the underside of the desk. Sousuke’s gaze snaps in the same direction, and he straightens up, his posture suddenly military, spine rigid, face carefully blank.

 _Interesting_ , Rin thinks as Seijuro strolls into the office, closes the door, places both hands on his hips, and smiles at them both expectantly. All six-foot-one of him is taking up what little free space there is in the room. Rin feels the urge to crawl underneath his desk and curl up until Seijuro procures a desk and an office for Sousuke, thereby ridding Rin of the behemoth infestation he finds himself in the midst of.

“How is our newest officer settling in? You’re looking after him, right, Captain Matsuoka?” Seijuro asks, turning a critical eye over the state of Rin’s desk.

 _No_ , Rin wants to shout. _I’m the one who needs to be looked after, idiot. I can‘t work. I can’t think. He’s killing me slowly. Soon I won’t even be able to show my face near my friends or eat a steak without remembering how my best friend fucking ruined the simplest pleasure in life because he’s a perfectionistic asshole. Please, for the love of God, send him back._

“Right,” Sousuke says smoothly. The smile he sends Seijuro is drier than sandpaper, but it does the trick, because Seijuro nods in approval. Rin is grateful he developed a mind-to-mouth filter in the last few years, and he suffocates the impulse to ask Seijuro for a transfer of his own. A different solar system, maybe. “I’m comfortable here.”

“Right,” Rin echoes. “Tonight is his first solo patrol.” A smirk plays at his lips. “I think he can handle it.”

He recalls the first—and last—time he got Haru offside. The memory of chocolate sauce masquerading as gravy over the top of a steak is always in the back of his mind, inerasable, and Haru’s cool little smile as he watched Rin sputter and clutch at his throat still gives him the occasional nightmare. _Or Haru will handle him._

* * *

“Is this necessary?” Ai wonders.

“Completely,” Haru responds, briskly stirring the garnish. He checks the consistency by dragging the wooden spoon out, and it comes out smooth, so he replaces the lid to let it sit for another minute. _He knows better than to do that to Makoto._

Ai casts a worried glance to the other side of the kitchen. Nagisa is standing in front of the dessert pantry, his hands clasped around the lock, tugging and pulling in various directions in a futile bid to loosen it. It’s a testament to Nagisa’s love for sweets—and his persistence—that he’s been alternating between trying to talk Haru into unlocking it, and attempting to open it himself. The bobby pins he usually uses to hold his fringe back when he’s working are scattered on the floor under his feet, and his tongue is peeking out of his mouth in determination. He continues to rotate the lock doggedly but uselessly, while Momo cheers him on from a nearby stool, his mouth full of chocolate éclair.

“Isn’t it a bit harsh?” Ai asks.

His concern is well-placed, but Haru can’t overrule Makoto on this one. For the nature of the crime, this is a punishment Nagisa has well and truly earned.

“No.” Haru touches his pocket, where the keys are safe from Nagisa. When he feels the beginnings of a sneeze, he swipes two fingers under his nose; the scent of basil and cilantro is strong on them, and it’s enough to ward away the oncoming tickle. Then he crosses the room to pull a thick steak from the fridge. Soon, Haru has it crackling away in a pan, and he keeps an eye on Nagisa all the while. His whines are starting to grow in pitch.

Not for the first time, Haru considers giving Nagisa an early mark just to get him out of the restaurant before Rin’s friend gets here. Pausing, Haru pushes the steak to one side of the pan thoughtfully, before looking over his shoulder. “Nagisa.”

“Haru-chan! I knew you’d change your—”

“No,” Haru says. Nagisa’s face falls, the exuberance disappearing faster than Momo’s éclair. “What’s his name?”

“You forgot already?”

“You never said.”

“Oh,” Nagisa mumbles, giving the lock a halfhearted tug. “Sou-chan.”

Haru closes his eyes. “Maybe it should be a two-week ban, instead of one. Makoto would probably agree.”

Nagisa freezes. “Yamazaki Sousuke,” he says, sullenly.

“Thanks.” Haru flips the steak over, pressing the back of the spatula over it. It sizzles in the pan, sparking up flecks of oil. Nagisa, mumbling, resumes fighting with the lock, Ai sighs, and Momo peers over Haru’s shoulder curiously. He has smears of chocolate around his mouth and chin, and his breath is so sweet it could probably knock Rin for six. Haru wordlessly offers Momo a wad of tissue from his pocket. Momo takes it, leaning a bit closer to the steak to get a whiff.

“Did you come up with a way to apologise?” Haru asks, holding out a hand for the pepper, and Ai supplies it in record time. Beside him, Momo nods rapidly, and his grin is blinding at one hundred watts.

“You bet! I got him the best sorry present _ever_ ,” Momo announces. “It’s in my locker. There’s no way he can stay mad!”

“I don’t think he was mad,” Ai muses, taking up a seat on Momo’s abandoned stool. “Was he, Haruka-senpai?”

“Who knows,” Haru mutters. “ _No one_ should leave here with a bad taste in their mouth.” He gives Momo a sidelong glance, before returning his attention to the steak. He adds a pinch of paprika and some garlic powder—enough to offset the garnish without taking away from the taste—and turns the heat down so the steak can simmer for a while, stay warm until Sousuke arrives.

“This is a _very_ special gift. He’ll forgive us in no time!” Momo assures him, flashing another grin that makes Haru want to retreat underneath a heavy doona until summer rolls around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this fic so far, guys, and for all of the wonderful comments! From the next chapter on, the story is much more SouHaru-centric, rather than _The Nagisa Show_. 
> 
> As always, feedback is welcomed and loved. 
> 
> [sierrasuke.tumblr.com](http://sierrasuke.tumblr.com/) and [@sierrasuke at twitter](https://twitter.com/sierrasuke)


	4. Testing Testing, I'm Just Suggesting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rin has 99 problems and Sousuke is every single one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, so i completely did not intend to take 3.5 months to update. i did say this fic was a slow burn, right? /hit
> 
> sorry for the snail's pace but have a slightly longer-than-usual chapter to make up for it? please check the tags as i've updated them to reflect the (minor) background makorin, as well as the direction the characters will be developed platonically (rinharu, sounagi).
> 
> music: [marianas trench - haven't had enough](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8c5XkGbEQiE)

“Hey, Sou.” Rin taps the table with one hand and shakes the car keys with the other, grinning impishly. “Want a ride?”

Sousuke ends a sentence with a heavy full-stop. “Hell no.”

“You sure? You’re gonna need your strength for whatever the hell Haru’s planning to do to you.”

“Still no,” Sousuke answers, filing away a witness statement.

Rin is silent for a beat before he changes tack. “If you make it back here alive, I’ll buy your coffee for a week. I’ll throw in a couple of bagels too, if it helps distract you from your imminent death.”

Stretching one arm over his head with a satisfying pop, Sousuke grunts. “Don’t eat those. If you’re gonna try to bribe me, do it right.”

He runs an eye over the mountain of paperwork they’ve been sifting through all afternoon. It’s whittled down to a manageable size thanks to Rin’s highly efficient, fastidious method that involves zero breaks and so much pen-holding that Sousuke is reluctant to let go of his in case he’s developed the world’s first live case of rigor mortis.

He’s on the verge of starvation and so close to the end of his tether that if Rin pushes the point, Sousuke might just handcuff him to the desk he so cherishes and leave him here overnight for some sorely missed one-on-one time with it. Rin’s been glowering at him often enough to make it clear that he’s intruding.

As if Sousuke can help that Mikoshiba didn’t have an office readied for his arrival despite the three months of forewarning. Even with Rin badgering Mikoshiba at every turn (when he thinks Sousuke is out of earshot), there’s no resolution in sight. Sousuke wants to remind Rin that he didn’t _choose_ this for himself, that there was no alternative, but that will spring a well of uncomfortable questions, make him re-live something he wants left in the past where it belongs.

He’s not prepared for the inevitable fallout when the truth of his transfer finds Rin, and it will. In their years of friendship, Sousuke has only been able to dodge Rin’s curiosity for so long before guilt and Rin’s persistence chase the answers out of him.

Twelve hour shifts glued to Rin’s side and sharing working quarters are taking a toll on them both. Rin is watching him every waking hour like a hawk, one eye tuned to his movements as if he’s about to raid the emergency ramen any moment. Sousuke knows where the key to the third drawer is and so does everyone else in the fucking department. Poisoning himself with Rin’s overspiced, sodium-saturated noodles is low on his list of priorities. He’s had enough near-misses with food recently as it is.

“A donut?” Rin suggests, grasping at straws now. “Muffin?”

It’s depressing enough Sousuke can’t function past 8AM without coffee, and a total riot to Rin—whose energy levels first thing in the morning could easily rival Nagisa’s—but donuts are a cop cliché and Sousuke is already living half a life of cop clichés with his caffeine dependency and what Rin has christened ‘the Top Gun’ look.

His decimating stare has Rin biting back a laugh, teeth hooked in his lip.

“C-croissant? Chocolate croissant? C’mon, I saw you eat one of them whole the other day. I know you said you don’t have a gag reflex but _please_.”

“It’s like you forgot everything about me,” Sousuke mutters, tossing the pen to the desk. “It’s only been four years since the academy, Rin.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Rin insists. “I’m trying to make your life easier because I can almost _guarantee_ it’s gonna be hell after today. But you don’t want to listen to me, fine. You want Haru to gut you, string you up by your intestines, cure your meat, and then grind up what’s left of you into fish flakes and feed it to his clownfish? _Fine_. At least let me drop you off, huh?”

Roughly translated, ‘a ride’ is Rin-code for parking around the corner and setting up camp outside the restaurant so he can ensure that Sousuke isn’t burning the place down or severing bonds of friendship beyond repair. Sousuke has no patience for Rin’s paranoia today, and he’s too hungry for verbal warfare.

He stands abruptly, shaking the table. Rin shrinks back into his seat with a nervous chuckle.

“I reiterate: hell no,” Sousuke says with careful enunciation of each syllable. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

Rin’s face falls. “Yeah, okay.” He nods, snatching the keys back into a fist.

Sousuke groans. “Don’t—no, don’t make that goddamn face. It’s not far. I’d rather walk. It’s not personal. _Rin_.”

Rin’s bottom lip quivers just enough for Sousuke to very briefly reconsider his answer before he scowls and launches a stress ball at Rin. It sails harmlessly past his head and bounces off the wall.

“You’re doing that on purpose. Knock it off.”

The move is unquestionably Rin’s, but it didn’t take Gou long to connect the dots. It’s in her arsenal now and more of a weapon in her hands—actually, it’s downright fucking _dangerous_. Between the two of them, Sousuke would prefer to run into Rin in a dark alleyway; at least then he might come out of it unscathed and with all limbs intact.

If Rin’s anger is a storm, Gou’s is a category five hurricane capable of razing a city to rubble. It’s terrifying when her mood takes a turn south. She’s sweeter than honey unless threatened or her seemingly limitless patience pushed too far, and Sousuke has a sense of self-preservation. He knows which one of them not to piss off under any circumstances, and it’s not the Matsuoka throwing up the watery eyes trick in front of Sousuke in a bid to get what he wants.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Rin says with a breezy grin, resting his chin on a fist.

Sousuke has succumbed to Matsuoka whims his entire life, bouncing between Rin and Gou like a ricocheting tennis ball. Before Rin can reel him in for the thousandth time, he heads for the door with an exasperated noise, retrieving his jacket on the way. “See you.”

He can hear the pout in the shout that follows: “Don’t run Haru out of this town, Sousuke!”

* * *

 

“Haru-chan is so mean,” Nagisa huffs, plucking at the knot of his apron. He pulls it off and scrunches it up in a fist. “A whole _week_? How am I supposed to survive that long, Momo-chan? It’s a conspiracy, Ai-chan!”

“You did upset Tachibana-san by tricking him,” Ai agrees, closing his locker. “It was sort of mean.”

Meandering over with a box in his arms, Momo gives an assenting nod. “Yep. Anyway,” he says, “you can buy whatever you want from the grocery store next door. They sell everything in there! Muffins, cake…even the fancy chocolate from Belgrum!”

Ai winces. “Belgium.”

Momo only falters for a second, blinking. “Belgium ch—”

“Belgian,” Ai corrects with a sympathetic pat to Momo’s back.

“Belgian chocolate!” Momo proclaims with a cheerful grin, undeterred. “I ate a whole bag and it made me sick. Like, hangover sick. But when it came out it looked more like sh—”

“No graphic details needed,” Nagisa says hastily before European chocolate is ruined forever. “I get it, I get it… It was pretty mean but I was just trying to have some fun. It gets so boring around here and I didn’t think Mako-chan would take it seriously. He knows Haru-chan better than anyone, so… he should’ve known I was kidding. Right?” He starts extracting the bobby pins securing his fringe, sighing as the answer finds him in his own words. “Now I feel bad.”

“Why don’t you apologise to Makoto-senpai, too?” Momo suggests, nodding down at the box that must contain what he’s planning on gifting to Sousuke. “But you’ll have to come up with something super extra good to beat me at apology presents, Nagisacchi!”

“Mako-chan can’t be bought… I’ve tried. So many times.”

Ai brushes off his shirt. “An apology isn’t supposed to be a bribe.”

“It is when it comes to Mako-chan,” Nagisa says glumly. “He can stay mad a lot longer than Haru-chan.”

“Really?” Momo asks, struggling to balance the box under one arm as he fumbles with his locker key.

“Once he didn’t talk to me for two whole weeks when I called in a false emergency to the fire station. There wasn’t really a kitten trapped down a drainpipe…”

“That’s a waste of resources,” Ai points out, “and their time. Anyone would be mad, especially Tachibana-san. I’ve never seen anyone with so many cat bumper stickers.”

Nagisa stuffs the apron into the locker, closing it with a loud bang that echoes through the lunchroom.

“He has to forgive me sooner or later. I can’t sweeten it by buying something for him like you can, Momo-chan. And that reminds me… What’s with all the mystery?” he asks, stepping closer and poking the side of the box inquisitively. “You’ve been really secretive about it. That isn’t like you at all.”

Momo whirls away from him, protecting the box by clutching it to his chest.

“Don’t do that!” he protests. “Just trust me, it’s gonna be good. It won’t matter how angry Yamazaki-san is with me when he opens _this_.” He strokes the side of the box tenderly and coos to it like it’s a living, breathing thing with a pulse, but compared to some of the things Nagisa has seen Momo do before, it’s not too disturbing. On a scale of one to pictures of Gou plastering the inside of Momo’s locker—each with Rin carefully, painstakingly cut out—whispering sweet nothings to an inanimate object is reasonably normal for Momo.

Whatever it is Momo has been tittering about to himself all afternoon won’t be a secret much longer, so Nagisa doesn’t pry. “You should probably have a backup plan ready, okay? Sou-chan seems about as forgiving as Mako-chan.”

“I’m not worried,” Momo grins.

“You’re braver than anyone else I know,” Nagisa answers with an idle glance at the time.

It’s just past seven-thirty. Nagisa has seen enough of Sousuke to have his zodiac pinned. His personal interest in horoscopes and experience with reading people’s signs with absolute precision in the past leads him to the conclusion that Sousuke is probably a Virgo or some equally repressed earth sign. He fits all the descriptors that come to mind: analytical, practical, probably hardworking (Nagisa needs to cross-check that with Rin), and definitely overbearing in every sense. Virgos are supposedly loyal but the way Sousuke brushed off Rin’s threats like they were nothing makes Nagisa doubt there’s any real brotherhood between them.

“We should do what we can to help Haru-chan,” he says slowly, curling a finger under his chin in thought. “To make it easier for Sou-chan to accept Momo-chan’s apology… What do you think, Ai-chan?”

“I think I’m going to need a clear definition of ‘help’ first.”

“We’ll need a paper bag. And maybe duct tape, to be safe.”

“Duck tape?”

“ _No_ , Momo-chan.”

* * *

The scent wafting in from the kitchen is making Nagisa’s mouth water. He prefers sweeter things but it’s going to be six days, ten hours, and twenty-seven minutes before Haru surrenders the key to the dessert pantry as per Makoto’s instruction. Cardboard could satisfy his tastebuds with how long it’s been since he had something sweet—it might have been early this afternoon but with his blood sugar levels running low, he can’t be sure.

Nagisa tucks himself underneath the table and draws his knees in. On the other side of the restaurant, Ai is crouching behind a chair, drumming his fingers over a leg in a fretful rhythm. After he finishes tapping out what sounds like the drum baseline to a Guns N’ Roses song, Ai snaps his fingers to get Nagisa’s attention and points at his watch.

Nagisa nods, glancing at his own. 7:55.

Every light in the main area is out with the exception of one in the back kitchen where Haru is still working, refusing to leave a steak on the stove unattended and having declined Momo’s offer to supervise it.

From behind the front register, Momo’s jittery energy is palpable and catching, if Ai’s fidgeting is any indication. Maybe it would have been safer to leave Momo with Haru—though at the risk of alerting Haru to the impromptu plan to ensure a safe delivery of Sousuke—because if anyone’s going to blow their cover, it’s Momo. Not because he’s a saboteur but because asking him to keep a secret for even five minutes is like entrusting him with the life of a newborn baby.

He sends Momo an _a-ok_ gesture and a reassuring smile, hoping it might hold him in place a bit longer. Momo grins and salutes briskly in response as Ai starts to point frantically at the front door.

Nagisa holds his breath. A moment later he hears footsteps that could belong to a lowland gorilla for how heavy they are. The door creaks, and Sousuke comes in without announcing his presence—like he needs to with the kind of atmosphere he generates. Nagisa has dealt with worse. Haru when he’s fresh out of bed, for a start. A fatigued Rin after two back-to-back shifts complaining about the lack of mustard sauce, for another. It took an hour to talk Momo out of a foetal position when Haru crushed the stag beetle café idea with a single decisive _no_.

Still in his work uniform, Sousuke passes by Nagisa’s hiding spot, searching for signs of life in the otherwise empty room. With a victorious grin and a shout of "aha!", Nagisa lashes out with a hand, wrapping it around Sousuke’s ankle.

“Halt, Sou-chan!” he orders, anticipating a fight. Instead of giving him one, Sousuke stops in his tracks and looks down at Nagisa, expression devoid of anything except mild puzzlement. The first thing Nagisa notices is the aviators again, peeping out of Sousuke’s shirt pocket. “You’re in our clutches now. Resistance is futile. Come quietly or else!”

Motionless, Sousuke stares at him, an eyebrow slightly raised.

Nagisa swallows audibly. “Um.”

Abandoning that tactic, he rolls out from under the table and hastens to his feet. Momo is the first to follow suit, jumping ahead of Sousuke to block his path with his arms spread wide. Ai, with a face full of trepidation and dread, peers out from behind the chair to survey the situation judiciously before he slips to Momo’s side, wielding a wooden spoon.

Trapped between Momo and Ai in front and Nagisa behind, Sousuke gazes at each of them in turn, silent.

“Now what?” Ai whispers into Momo’s ear so loudly the local cemetery has probably been roused from the afterlife.

Sousuke is trying to make Nagisa spontaneously combust using the force of his eyes alone—or at the very least set him on fire—and it’s hard to resist breaking eye-contact but Nagisa stands firm, fists on his hips.

“You’re coming with us now,” he declares. “Don’t resist or this will end up being a lot more painful for you than it has to be.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Sousuke says at last.

Momo gasps. “You…weren’t?”

Sousuke’s eyes shift back to Momo and Ai, releasing Nagisa from their intensity. Both of them inch closer to each other, looking like a pair of scared ducks with ruffled feathers and wide eyes, though there’s a glimmer of awe in Momo’s.

 _Safety in numbers_ , Nagisa thinks. _Smart_.

“I came here by choice,” Sousuke points out slowly, as if he’s explaining a complex math problem to a captive kindergarten audience. "What the hell would I be resisting?”

Blinking, Ai lowers the wooden spoon.

“Then why do I have this?” Momo whines, shaking the roll of duct tape. “This isn’t any fun.”

Retrieving the folded paper bag from his pocket, Nagisa sighs. “We’re…trying to help Haru-chan without Haru-chan knowing, and…”

Sousuke scoffs. “Assault is a creative method of help.”

Ai nods in agreement, and even Momo manages to look sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck.

Nagisa puffs his cheeks. “We just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to run away on us!”

“And now that you know I’m not,” Sousuke says in a tone edging on flat, “what’s your plan, Hazuki?”

All of Nagisa’s momentum falters. His hand drops to his side, crunching the paper bag. “I didn’t really have a backup… I was gonna steal your phone if you tried to call Rin-chan?”

“Always have a backup,” Sousuke rebukes in a way that sounds disconcertingly like Rin when he scolds Nagisa or Momo for breathing too close to him.

“It’s not my fault I can’t think of anything,” Nagisa mumbles with a yearning sigh. “I need a certain amount of dessert every day to stay on top of my game, Sou-chan, and thanks to—um, me, I’m not allowed to have any for a whole entire week. That’s seven days.”

Nonplussed, Sousuke shucks his jacket off and throws it over a nearby chair, then folds his arms.

“So you want to kidnap me,” he says, tilting his head at Momo and the duct tape he’s fiddling with in mild excitement. “What are you, the café yakuza?”

Ai clears his throat. “It’s a restaurant, not a café.”

“When you put it that way, it sounds kind of illegal,” Nagisa admits, slipping the paper bag behind his back and out of view. “It was just in case you tried to make trouble for Haru-chan. Totally a precaution. And we weren’t gonna take you anywhere so it’s not really kidnapping… Technically it would be adultnapping.”

“What a waste of rope,” Momo sighs.

“You have rope?” Ai asks in disbelief, shaking his head as Momo pulls a coil of rope out of his shirt.

To their collective surprise, Sousuke chuckles, a deep sound that echoes. It’s the kind of laugh that makes Nagisa want to like him instantly and embrace him—despite the _touch-me-and-die_ aura—and Nagisa would if not for the gun surely hidden somewhere on Sousuke’s person. He found out the hard way where Rin keeps his gun after the butt of it caught him in the nose when he tried a running jump-hug on Rin, so he settles for smiling hopefully. He’d like to hear that laugh again before he expires from Haru’s ban in approximately three days, probably a skeleton still clinging to the door of the dessert pantry as Ai cries over his body and Momo shrieks _why_ on his knees.

Sousuke’s face holds the faintest hint of amusement. “And if I pretend to struggle?”

“Are you saying you’ll go along with us?” Nagisa dares to whisper, clasping his hands together. “Really?”

Sousuke lifts one shoulder in a languid shrug. “Could do with a laugh.”

“Spending too much time with Rin-chan?” Nagisa says with full understanding. “Don’t worry! We’ve all been there. I wish I could say it gets better but it really doesn’t.”

“Comforting,” Sousuke says, holding out his wrists to Momo.

Never one to look past an opportunity, Momo eagerly loops the rope around Sousuke’s hands too fast for anyone’s eyes to follow. A moment later they’re secured together so tightly the rope is cutting into the skin of Sousuke’s inner wrists but he doesn’t seem to notice, just tests the strength of it and shoots a mildly surprised glance at Momo, who grins mischievously. Nagisa recognises the knot as a double constrictor only because Seijuro once demonstrated it—among a series of other complicated knots—for them one afternoon while waiting for Momo to finish up.

“Nice,” Sousuke remarks, inspecting the knot from all angles.

“P-pardon me, Yamazaki-san!” Ai blurts suddenly, aiming the wooden spoon between Sousuke’s shoulderblades and pushing. “L-let’s go.”

Sousuke takes an unhurried step. “Not feeling the animosity.”

“Say it like you mean it, Ai-chan!” Nagisa encourages, clapping his hands. “You can do it.”

Ai’s voice plucks up courage. “G-get going, moge.”

“Much better! We’ll make a henchman out of you yet.”

“Moge?” Sousuke says under his breath, unresisting as he moves forward at Ai’s hesitant prodding.

“It’s a thing of Haru-chan’s,” Nagisa explains, following after them. “You’ll see.”

Skipping around to the other side of a table, Momo drags out a chair and makes a sweeping gesture. Sousuke drops into the seat, making it seem so small in comparison to his body that Nagisa questions how much Haru allocates in the annual budget for replacement furniture. Slouching back, Sousuke looks as comfortable as he might if he were unbound and not essentially at the mercy of their rather unmerciful boss.

Nobody watched Haru cook from start to finish. Nagisa was distracted by the dessert pantry, Momo by the éclair, and Ai by the distress of Nagisa’s wails—and he can only think back to the last time Haru went out of his way like this. It was for Rin. A similar situation, some imagined slight, and resultant in Rin stumbling out of the restaurant grasping his throat like Haru force-fed him a mouthful of bees and washed it down with a cup of bleach.

Shaking his head, Nagisa takes out the paper bag again. “Or maybe you won’t see. That might make it easier on you. Is this okay, Sou-chan?”

“Too much talking makes Haruka-senpai mad,” Momo adds as he ducks behind the counter to find scissors. He returns a moment later with a square of duct tape.

Sousuke’s gaze travels between them. He exhales and rolls his shoulders back, tilting his chin up imperiously. “Whatever.”

* * *

The route home is a lot longer on foot than Rin remembers it.

He has access to the squad car outside work hours, but tonight something compelled him to walk home. His apartment is only two miles from the station but after ten minutes of brisk walking his shirt is saturated through with sweat from the blanket of humidity overtaking the city in the early evening hours. With a scowl, he glances around to make sure he’s completely alone before cussing out Sousuke loudly and with enough profanity to make him regret it almost immediately. The guilt just worsens when a wide-eyed woman with a pram and a fucking baby appears around the corner of a shop, hurrying past him like he’s a leper.

Groaning, Rin buries his face in a palm. He tries to call her back, to explain that he’s just _really_ goddamn frustrated with the state of his work life, that the lack of personal space and the headache of deciding what to do with Sousuke now his probation is over is compounded by the annoyance at not getting an invitation to the Sousuke-exclusive party Haru is throwing.

Predictably, the woman is gone in the blink of an eye and Rin is left alone on the street corner in his work uniform, easily identifiable in case she feels like calling up the station and reporting him for a foul mouth unbecoming of an upstanding member of society and unprofessional conduct. A little more chaos at work is _exactly_ what he needs if he’s going to be dead of a stress-induced embolism before he hits thirty, and Seijuro excels at plucking the last threads of Rin’s sanity.

He barks out a near-hysterical laugh before sinking down to the curb, pulling his knees in and dropping his head to them. An indistinguishable amount of time goes by with his slow, drowsy breathing, the fatigue of shadowing Sousuke starting to catch up with him. He doesn’t feel the shadow fall over him but he does feel a vague chill on his skin, the sweat cooling as the temperature drops.

“Rin?”

The voice jerks Rin back to reality and he looks up sharply to find Makoto standing there, one hand outstretched in concern but not making contact yet.

“Are you okay?” Makoto questions after a silence. “You look… lost.”

“That’s Sousuke,” Rin snaps out of reflex before he realises who he’s talking to and blows out a sigh. Makoto looks more confused at the mention of Sousuke. Rin forgot they haven’t actually met yet, mostly due to conflicting work schedules. “Sorry, sorry. Not having the best day.”

Carefully, Makoto lowers himself to the curb beside Rin, far enough from him to be respectful but close enough for his presence to be comforting. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Rin confesses, resting a hand at his temple. “My friend just…blew me off. And so did Haru. Feels kind of shitty.”

Makoto laughs. “If it helps, Haru ditched me tonight, too. He said he had to stay back at work. He never does that so I wasn’t sure what to think, but I guess fending for myself for one night can’t be that bad if it means I run into you down here, right?”

Rin doesn’t have the energy to relay the whole story to Makoto, to expound on how Sousuke fits into the equation. He’s still perplexed by Sousuke’s sudden interest in someone that’s _not_ himself or Gou, and why of all people it had to be Haru, who in truth is a mirror image of Sousuke in so many ways that it makes Rin distinctly uncomfortable to linger on it.

Despite himself, he grins tiredly. “‘Spose it’s not all bad.”

Makoto smiles back. He leans sideways until the edges of their shoulders touch.

“Since we’re both free,” he says with a raise of his brows, “why don’t we entertain ourselves? You promised to show me the ice cream shop with the ‘ _thousand flavors, Makoto, I swear to god it’s a thousand_ ,’ didn’t you?”

It’s terrifying how quickly and effortlessly Makoto can neutralise anyone’s bad mood. Rin finds himself nodding, inching a bit closer to Makoto. He drops a hand to Makoto’s knee and smooths it over the fabric of his coveralls, dark with grime and strong with the scent of things that scorch and burn the way his skin is in this moment, pressed close to Makoto.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://sierrasuke.tumblr.com/) ◇ [twitter](https://twitter.com/sierrasuke)
> 
> thank you so much for the feedback so far--especially people who took the time to message me on tumblr. it means a lot and keeps me writing. i love interacting with you so please feel free to hit me up anywhere. ❤️ 
> 
> hope you enjoyed!


	5. Now or Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sousuke jerks his chin in an unsubtle _take it off_ gesture. Restrained like this, he's about as threatening as a cat with multi-colored capped nails, and Haru considers leaving the duct tape in place for the silence it allows him. Still, Haru's plan hinges on Sousuke consuming the food made for him, and he can't exactly apologise with his mouth sealed shut. That's the only part that matters.
> 
> With a long-suffering sigh, Haru strips the tape away.
> 
> To Sousuke's credit, he doesn’t flinch. He runs his tongue across his bottom lip, looking a bit less reproachful and a bit more grudgingly appreciative. "Thanks."
> 
> Haru starts to reach for the rope constraining Sousuke's wrists but he's beaten to it. Deftly, Sousuke works a thumb into the centre of the knot and unravels in a matter of seconds, proving not only that his joints have extreme hypermobility but something else, too.
> 
> "You let them," Haru states, arching his brows. "You could have escaped already."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>  
> 
> if you're still reading this fic, yo. it has been a hot minute. thank you for all your feedback and patience with my snail ass. ♡ :x;; 
> 
> i was always too invested in getting these two together. longer chapter to make up for lack of updates? stupid SouHaru shenanigans abound...
> 
> thank you to [karo](http://agaricals.tumblr.com/) and [iska](http://iskabee.tumblr.com/) for supporting me through this ornery chapter and listening to me whinge for the last thirteen months. the realest of pals.
> 
> title song: [now or never - halsey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q9jNSwmEQ3s)

"I can't believe," Rin whispers, "that just happened to me."

"It's replaceable!"

"After the amount of _shit_ I've been through today… Now this? Fucking seriously?"

Makoto presses his lips together firmly, trying not to laugh. "It's alright, Rin. Try to relax a little, okay?"

Rin’s shoulders slump dejectedly, his gaze riveted to the footpath where his ice cream splattered a moment ago after it wobbled and fell out of his hand. Makoto can only liken him to a dog whose bone has been taken away or thrown over the fence to the neighbour's Pomeranian.

He could be partly at fault, considering Rin's other hand was held captive in his own. Rin has never been capable of multitasking, particularly when he's wound tighter than a coil, more so when his hands have a propensity to sweat and tremble when tasked with acts of basic intimacy.

The cone still in Rin’s grip splinters under the slow pressure of his fist to match the vein throbbing in his temple. Makoto touches Rin's shoulder, turning him slightly.

"Here, you can have mine," he says, holding his ice cream out in offering. It's caramel praline and he knows Rin prefers mint chocolate chip, but it's worth a shot if it provides Rin even a brief distraction from his misery. "I'll get another."

Rin cringes and pushes Makoto's wrist down.

"I don't need your charity,” he protests. “And stop being so damn nice all the time, Makoto.”

His tone is intended to scold but instead it sounds like he's fed up with being pitied. Makoto supposes he might not be the first to see Rin in this state today, though Seijuro is one of the least sympathetic people he can think of. He still recalls when Seijuro referred to Momo’s anguish at the death of his first beetle as character building.

"Besides, early-onset diabetes doesn't fit into my five-year plan,” Rin continues. “Getting promoted is at the top of the list, right after remodelling my office and getting Sousuke demoted to archiving.”

Nobody other than Rin is gifted with the ability to perform an emotional 180 in the span of two sentences, his anger inextricably entwined with arrogance and spontaneous dissolution of basic social etiquette.

Makoto counts to ten so he doesn’t shove the only remaining ice cream into Rin’s face.

"Wow," he remarks when his temper cools, drawing the cone back. He drags his tongue through the melted ice cream spilling over the side. It snares Rin's interest, his eyes following a stray droplet as it escapes the corner of Makoto's mouth. "You aren't holding back today. Should I take that as an insult, or…?"

"That's not what I meant," Rin blurts, scratching the back of his neck and scuffing a foot against the pavement. "Just—if anything else can possibly go wrong today, I'm gonna start doing that laugh. The one they throw you in a strait jacket and cart you off to the asylum for. You know, _The Shining_. Jack Nicholson? _Here's Johnny_?" At Makoto's blank expression, Rin arches his eyebrows. "You can't tell me you've never heard of it."

Makoto doesn't have a movie collection quite the size of Rin's, so he misses the reference, furrowing a brow. "Not really…"

"No? Damn, you've been living under that rock with Haru for too long." Throwing his head back, Rin proceeds to demonstrate what Makoto can only describe as a hyena's dying yowl, long and jagged and high-pitched. He collapses into a round of his usual laughter a moment later, his eyes bright with amusement.

"You seem stressed," Makoto notes, choosing to ignore the jibe.

"Just a little," Rin says with a sigh. He cards a hand through his hair. Makoto wants to do it for him but Rin complains about public displays of affection when he's in a good mood, and risking it while Rin is so on edge is like throwing gasoline on a budding fire. "Sorry, I'm kind of all over the place. Work is stressing me the fuck out. I don't want to take it out on you, so maybe I'll—"

"No," Makoto interrupts. "You don't need to leave."

Rin does a double-take, but he's noticeably pleased as his eyes dart off to the side. When Makoto reaches out for his hand, Rin's fingers thread through his wordlessly. He might be prickly about contact but hand-holding is a hard-won safe zone for Makoto. Rin has proven to be much like a cat in nature, craving affection on his terms and tactile in only the most peculiar of ways. Rin's waters are difficult to navigate but the uncharted is part of what draws Makoto in, what keeps them anchored together.

“Let's go somewhere we can talk?" he suggests. "It doesn't have to be about your work or what's bothering you. It would be good to get your mind off things for a while. Walk with me?"

Hesitation flits across Rin's face. He nods and squeezes Makoto's hand in his grip. "Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere peaceful," Makoto answers, eyes turned forward.

Rin's questioning glance makes it hard not to smile back at him, but Makoto resists. The lure of distraction has settled the slight tremor of Rin's hand, and he follows Makoto without asking why or demanding where. It's enough for Makoto to lead him, guiding Rin in a way he so rarely lets himself be guided.

By the time they reach the park and their steps creak across the wooden slats of the bridge overlooking the pond, Rin's hand is warm instead of clammy. The crease of his brows has smoothed out to a content expression, eyes lidded low in the light cast by the sparse lamps along the walkway.

At the midpoint of the bridge, they slow to a stop. Rin lets go of Makoto’s hand and makes for the railing, folding his arms atop it. His eyes catch Makoto's, and the reluctance is infinitesimal but still there, still present enough to keep Rin tensed.

"I'm listening," Makoto states, staring out across the pond, "if there's anything you need to say. If you don't, that's okay, too."

Rin makes a soft, affirmative noise. " I appreciate it, Makoto, it's just…it's hard to put into words without sounding like some kind of whack job."

"Why?"

Rin bites out a laugh. "Because you don't know what Sousuke is like."

"You could tell me about him," Makoto points out. A pair of ducks breeze under the bridge, and he watches them disappear past the low-hanging branches of a willow tree. "Then maybe I could understand. And for what it's worth," he adds, "I don't think you're crazy."

"Thanks," Rin says, grinning sideways at him. "Alright, fuck." He rests his chin on a fist. "I don't know where to even start. We go way back, you know? He's been my best friend for years. My sister and I have known him since we were kids, and he knows us both inside out. We grew up together, fought a lot over the most inane shit." His lips twist in a wry smirk. "Then and now. We went to the same kindergarten and high school. He was like my brother, always at my house… My mom loved him. Then we ended up at the same academy for police training. It was the only thing we ever agreed on. His second choice, my first. He didn't have the grades to make it to Kyoto, and neither of us were interested in university."

As Rin trails off, Makoto switches to face the other way. He leans against the railing on his elbows, nodding along. "I'm with you so far."

"That's the simple part," Rin mutters. "After we graduated, Sousuke took the first job he was offered on the other side of the country. Guess he just took one look at the contract, decided the money was too good to turn down, left town overnight. I thought he'd stay local, that we'd be on the same force…but I was the last one to find out he wanted to fly the coop as soon as goddamn possible. Even Gou knew about his grand fucking plans."

Rin's tone takes on a bitter edge, his fingers digging into the wood. Makoto can see the tendons between them rise through Rin's skin. He suppresses the instinct to touch, to soothe.

"He was gone a week after we were inducted and it took him another month to get to a phone and call me. He was trying to explain but it sounded more like excuses. I was so pissed with him that I didn't listen to anything he was telling me. We had a fight that was worse than the others. It was fucking awful. I said a lot of things I didn't mean in the heat of the moment. Then he just clammed up, shut me out instead of waiting for me to finish ranting like he usually would… Hung up on me."

Rin purses his lips and gazes across the pond. "Then we didn't speak for almost four years."

Makoto does his best not to stare at Rin in astonishment. He directs it elsewhere, biting his lip pensively. "So who apologised first?"

"He did," Rin answers with a rueful grin. "I never was good at swallowing my pride. He showed up at my apartment one weekend. I was still so angry that I nearly slammed the door in his face, but Gou was visiting, so… She played mediator and we managed to talk it out. You'd be surprised what three bottles of Jägermeister and pizza will do for old wounds." He grimaces. "And your stomach, ugh. We were so hung-over. Gou had to hang towels from the windows and take care of us like a pair of toddlers. It was messy but we came through it okay. It was like he’d never been away."

Rin blows out a wistful sigh. “The rest is history. He didn't tell me much about his life in Tokyo or the job he up and left for. I was too shit-scared to ask for more than having him around again."

"You've already been through so much with him," Makoto notes, tucking an errant strand of hair behind Rin's ear. "Can't you work on whatever the problem between you now is? I don't know what the situation is, Rin, but all Seijuro does when he drops by to have lunch with Momo is sing praises about how resourceful and practical you are, how you're the only one he can trust with the hard cases…"

Rin snaps his head up, disbelief etched across his features. "Mikoshiba says that?"

"What, he's never told you that you do a good job?" Makoto asks, blinking owlishly. "Haru always complains that Seijuro talks too much but he likes hearing how good you are at your job. I can tell."

"The promotions speak for themselves, I guess," Rin grins, leaning into Makoto's hand. "Anyway, the problem with Sousuke—since that fight, we don’t communicate the way we used to. It's not the same and I don't blame him for it. Things have been kind of strained since he transferred in. On some levels it works because we know each other so well, but our working relationship needs some…fine-tuning. Actually, no. It needs a complete overhaul. We're together all the time and there's just no downtime from it, you know? He's in my space, I'm in his. There's nothing I can do about it, though. We've just had to make it work, whatever it takes. It's driving both of us up the wall in the process and our productivity levels have fucking plummeted in the last month since Mikoshiba assigned him to me."

"So you need to let off steam?" Makoto clarifies. "Does therapy fall under your work's health insurance?''

Rin turns a suspicious look on him. "Are you trying to suggest me and Sousuke go to a…shrink? Together?"

"Or separately?" Makoto shifts his weight to one elbow, fingers sifting through Rin's ponytail. "Whatever is easiest for you both to make some progress."

"Couples therapy," Rin muses, looking out over the pond in deep thought, "for…a work partnership. He might not like the idea. That jackass is clamped tighter than an oyster. But it's worth a shot, right?"

"Exactly," Makoto agrees, sidling a bit closer. Rin leans into him, head nestled on the curve of Makoto's shoulder. "You'll come up with a way around it, Rin. You always do. Like Seijuro said, you're resourceful."

"I know," Rin mumbles. "Thanks, Makoto."

Makoto can feel the heat of Rin's cheeks through his shirt. A smile pulls at his lips. "You're welcome."

He thinks to push his luck by slipping an arm around Rin's shoulders but the angle doesn't allow it. He doesn't know that Rin would tolerate it in his current mood either. Instead, he tilts his chin until it rests against Rin's hair and the deep cherry scent of Rin's hair gel invades his senses.

"Sousuke always had his sights on bigger and better things," Rin murmurs at length, sedately. His voice is resigned to fact, painting a picture of a person Makoto doesn't know yet but wants to, for the prominent role he plays in Rin's life. "He was never going to settle here like I did."

"I'm glad you did, though," Makoto answers without a beat. "And I think Haru is, too."

* * *

Pushing past the kitchen doors, Haru steadies the plate on a hand. He grinds to a halt at the sight that greets him with an arched eyebrow but the plate only teeters for a split second, knife and fork rattling. The heat emanating to his palm from the searing slab of marbled beef is barely an afterthought in the wake of Nagisa's brand of absurdity.

Nobody has noticed him yet. Nagisa, Momo, and Ai are crowded around a table where a man is sitting with his hands bound tightly in his lap. Both of his legs are secured to the chair legs with yet more rope.

Sousuke is only identifiable by the Samezuka emblem on his shirt sleeve and the deep, muffled growl that reverberates through his chest when Nagisa dexterously rifles around inside Sousuke’s shirt for his dog tags and pulls them out. He admires them with a high-pitched whistle. "Nice, Sou-chan!"

As Nagisa bends over, Haru gets an unimpeded view of Sousuke. His other eyebrow inches up at the Iwatobi-chan headpiece obscuring Sousuke's face; it's been in storage since the last fundraiser they held at the restaurant for a community-led refit of Makoto's fire station. Fittingly, it had been Nagisa wearing the costume back then, not Rin's boorish partner.

"So much for the paper bag, Momo-chan." Like a distractible bowerbird, Nagisa loses interest in the dog tags and moves on to straightening the headpiece with a click of his tongue. "Iwatobi-chan suits him better, don't you think?"

"But it's not intimidating." Momo leans down to examine Sousuke's ensemble with a pronounced sulk, hands planted on his hips. "He looks scarier without it. I drew a freaky expression on the paper bag and cut holes out for his eyes and everything… Even shark teeth!"

"That's a detail for Rin-chan," Nagisa muses. "I think a bear would have been better for Sou-chan." He pauses, casting a thoughtful glance at Ai. "Do we still have those big paws…? You know, the ones Rin-chan made such a fuss about but wore anyway last Halloween?"

"I threw them away during the last spring clean." Ai makes a pained noise when Nagisa pokes a finger through an eyehole, provoking another half-hearted growl from Sousuke. "Nagisa, that costume hasn't been cleaned in a year. We should _not_ be using it to—"

"Stop trying to take it off," Nagisa scolds, batting Ai's hands away. "It's staying! Sou-chan doesn't mind at all. Right?" he asks the Iwatobi-chan head. It shifts from side to side, and the fractional shrug of Sousuke's shoulders communicates _who cares_. "See? Now leave it, Ai-chan!"

"It's unsanitary," Ai tries to protest. "So many people have been in there. Not to mention, the fabric doesn't exactly breathe..."

"It looks creepy," Momo comments blithely. "Leave it. He needs the extra protection from—"

"From who?" Haru interjects.

Nagisa whirls around, guilt written all over his face. "Haru-chan! W-what are you doing—You're not supposed to be…uhm…"

"I won't ask," Haru says dryly. He spares a questioning glance at Momo and Ai, who promptly toss their loyalties to the wayside and point their index fingers accusingly at Nagisa to absolve themselves of blame. "Take it off."

Nagisa pouts but complies, wrenching the headpiece off Sousuke to reveal his dishevelled hair and duct-taped mouth. Sousuke closes an eye against the gleaming overhead lights, wearing an otherwise flat expression. Haru has to wonder how he was wrangled into such a position by three people half his size and weight, though Nagisa's coercive power is considerably greater than even Rin's. Haru knows firsthand how easy it is to be deceived into all kinds of situations by those wily charms. If he can fall prey to it, so can Sousuke.

He stifles a sigh, places the plate on the table, and directs a sharp look at his employees. "Clean the kitchen."

"Sir yes sir," Momo intones as Ai tugs him by the sleeve and bodily pulls him towards the kitchen.

Nagisa follows them with a visible sulk but pauses at the last moment. While Haru and Sousuke are occupied with staring each other down circumspectly in their customary greeting ritual like a pair of deer in rut, Nagisa passes by the chair Sousuke's jacket is slung over. He rifles through the pockets artfully, finds the object of his interest, and skulks back to the kitchen wordlessly with an impish grin.

"I see they gave you the five-star treatment." Haru's gaze falls to Sousuke's immobilised wrists, the discarded Iwatobi-chan head. The corner of his mouth curls. "Your food is going to get cold."

Sousuke jerks his chin in an unsubtle  _take it off_ gesture. Restrained like this, he's about as threatening as a cat with multi-colored capped nails, and Haru considers leaving the duct tape in place for the silence it allows him. Still, Haru's plan hinges on Sousuke consuming the food made for him, and he can't exactly apologise with his mouth sealed shut. That's the only part that matters.

With a long-suffering sigh, Haru strips the tape away.

To Sousuke's credit, he doesn’t flinch. He runs his tongue across his bottom lip, looking a bit less reproachful and a bit more grudgingly appreciative. "Thanks."

Haru starts to reach for the rope constraining Sousuke's wrists but he's beaten to it. Deftly, Sousuke works a thumb into the centre of the knot and unravels in a matter of seconds, proving not only that his joints have extreme hypermobility but something else, too.

"You let them," Haru states, arching his brows. "You could have escaped already."

"Maybe." Sousuke twists the rope away from a wrist, exhaling through his nose. "They were trying to help you."

Haru stares, uncomprehending. "By tying you up?"

"The path of least resistance," Sousuke says, freeing his other wrist and coiling the rope absently. It leaves a faint indentation in his skin. "Less effort."

When it comes to Nagisa, Haru can understand that.

"Sometimes easier," he allows. "With Rin, too."

Sousuke grunts out a laugh. "Yeah." Leaning forward, he reaches down and makes quick work of untying his calves from the chair legs. "He’s a lot like Hazuki."

 _You have no idea_ , Haru thinks wryly. "Probably."

Sousuke's gaze conspicuously drifts to the plate. "That why you asked me here?"

Haru might be imagining it but Sousuke seems eager for Haru’s food despite all evidence to the contrary—his claim of Haru intentionally undercooking food in a clear bid to kill him, his refusal to believe that the fault lay with Momo, and the fact Haru didn't know him from a rock on the side of the road until a few days ago.

Sousuke's riveted stare speaks volumes. Maybe it's the hunger talking. All Haru knows is that look is not the one of a man who believes he's about to be poisoned by steak.

Haru takes the seat on the other side of the table.

“Yes,” he says, matter-of-fact. “You were wrong."

He doesn't add: _I want to see your face when you realise it_. That's a private desire, one even Makoto might not be able to discern from his face alone.

Sousuke's mouth quirks on one side. "Nanase, you're…"

"I don't have all night," Haru states, tone clipped. "Hurry up."

Sousuke's expression slips into wariness for a moment but his appetite overpowers any last-minute hesitations. He reaches for the utensils and aims the point of the knife in Haru's direction.

"I'm Rin's best shot," he says with no real malice, just a smirk. "He'll come looking if something happens to me."

"I'm not afraid of Rin," Haru counters. "Eat."

A glance at the kitchen doors reveals Nagisa, Momo, and Ai vying for the singular window allowing them to peek into the restaurant. Ai ekes out a squeak and ducks down out of sight when Haru shoots them a flat stare. Nagisa, immune to such a mild deterrence, has practically clambered atop them both in order to see, his cheeks puffed in defiance. He places a hand on Momo's head and shoves him down despite a muffled yelp of protest.

"Nagi- _sa_ ," Momo complains, sounding distant. Haru could learn to enjoy it if he hadn't succeeded in permanently drowning out the voices of his employees within a week of hiring Momo.

Scuffling sounds emerge as Momo clamours for a view until Nagisa scoffs and a resounding thump and a whine ensue. "Behave yourself, Momo-chan!"

Haru looks back to find a quarter of the steak gone, and Sousuke in the middle of severing another sizeable piece with rough strokes of the knife.

Sousuke's enthusiasm after the first bite reminds Haru of a half-starved dog given its first meal in weeks. Sousuke barely pauses to appreciate the food for what it is, too preoccupied with consuming it without pause for breath.

"Helps if you chew," Haru says, folding his arms.

"Takes too long," Sousuke mumbles around a mouthful. He swallows, cuts a larger chunk, and devours it in record time. His eyes glaze over. "Shit."

Haru represses a smirk. "That's what I thought."

Sousuke all but inhales the remainder of the steak. Apart from the garbled, fast-paced conversation happening in the kitchen, the only sound is Sousuke's slow, pensive mastication as he stares appraisingly at Haru, clearly torn between imagined past transgressions and a steak-induced gustatory orgasm. He tosses the utensils onto the plate and pushes it away, then slouches back in his seat with a hint of his trademark glare. Haru rather enjoys the conflict playing out on Sousuke's face, his emotions warring between the humiliation of being proven dead wrong and the difficulty of confessing it.

Haru doesn't have to be told to know he's won, but Sousuke doesn't need to know that. “So?”

The moment Sousuke opens his mouth to reply, the kitchen door bangs open and Momo scampers in with a box in his arms. He drags along Nagisa, whose arms are flung around Momo’s waist. Ai is tellingly absent, and Momo has the same determined look that can be found on Nagisa in a patisserie shop.

Haru stifles a sigh. "Momo…"

"I have to give Yamazaki-senpai his gift," Momo interrupts with a jutted lower lip, stubborn to the last.

He shares more than a few traits with his brother, whose existence Rin bemoans on a daily basis over his coffee.

Not even Nagisa's weight can slow Momo up. He stands squarely in front of Sousuke, presenting the box proudly like it's his firstborn child. It's crudely wrapped in orange cellophane, covered in Sousuke’s name scrawled in slapdash, white hiragana, and tied off with a single red bow. Momo's staple present technique for the last two White Days in a row, and every cause for celebration in-between. Haru still hasn't managed to scrub away the memory of the pile of glaringly orange presents that Momo bestowed upon him on his last birthday. He still can’t find a use for an apron emblazoned with stag beetles.

Momo thrusts the box into Sousuke's arms with a beaming smile. "Take this!"

"Not necessary," Sousuke mutters, glancing down.

"Don't be silly," Momo argues, prying Nagisa off with a concerted effort. "I put _so_ much effort into this and it's rude to refuse gifts. Plus," he adds with a mournful sigh, "Haruka-senpai ordered me to."

Sousuke fixes Haru with a look of mild interest.

Haru shrugs, trying to deflect all three pairs of eyes now on him. "The right thing to do, since all of this is Momo's fault."

Nagisa giggles, clamping a hand over his mouth. Momo winces, scuffing a foot against the floor.

"It won't happen again, I promise," he says sullenly to Sousuke. "Haruka-senpai showed me how to check if the meat is still raw after it's been cooked... He made me practice for three hours straight."

"Now I can sleep at night," Sousuke says under his breath. He exhales and nods slightly. "Forgiven." He pauses, then smirks. "I like you better than your brother."

Momo gasps, scandalised. "But Nii-san--!"

Before Momo can launch into an impassioned tirade in Seijuro's honour, Haru cuts in. "Open it, Yamazaki."

"I haven't checked it, Haru-chan," Nagisa protests, casting a worried eye over the box. "I have no idea what he's up to..."

Sousuke raises a brow. "Hope it's food."

"You can't _eat_ him!" Momo shouts, aghast. "That's murder, Yamazaki-senpai!"

"Him?" Nagisa and Haru echo, exchanging a look of incredulity.

Sousuke holds the box at an arm's length, frowning at a scrabbling noise that follows. He gives it a curious shake and Momo cries out heart-wrenchingly as if someone severed his foot from his leg without anaesthesia.

"Don't do that! You are trying to kill him after all! And Nii-san said such good things about you, Yamazaki-senpai, _how could you_ —"

Momo makes a grab for the box. Sousuke holds it out of his reach and Nagisa throws his arms around Momo's waist, effectively weighing him down. Momo blubbers and begs for Sousuke to have a heart until Haru glares at him, silencing him immediately.

"Calm down," he grinds out.

Momo sniffles but the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes dissolve.

"Sou-chan," Nagisa scolds, ducking to avoid Momo's scrabbling hands trying to prise him off, "don't play around with Momo-chan's feelings. He put a lot of effort into your gift… I think."

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Sousuke complies and gives the box a mockingly gentle stroke. Then he slips a finger under the bow and unthreads it. The cellophane crinkles as it falls away.

"Are those…air holes?" Nagisa asks, flabbergasted. "Momo-chan, did you give him a rat?"

"No, that was just for Ai the one time," Momo explains, his anguish forgotten as he motions eagerly to Sousuke. "Go on, open the lid!"

"Not sure I want to," Sousuke mutters, flicking his thumb under the rim of the lid.

Haru feels himself leaning forward to get a better look despite his better instincts.

Sousuke lifts the lid an inch, takes one look, and slams it back down again. He blanches, the colour draining from his face. "What the fuck?"

Nagisa disentangles himself from Momo and flips the lid off again. He bursts out laughing. "A bug! Momo-chan, why does it have scissors for a head?!"

Slowly, Sousuke places the box on the table and shoves his chair back.

"Not just any bug," Momo says smugly. "He's a stag beetle, king of the insects!”

"It's climbing out," Sousuke grouses. "Mikoshiba, do something. It's—"

"His name is Pyunsuke," Momo announces.

Nagisa's giggles escalate until he's doubled over against the table. "P-pyunsuke?"

"After Yamazaki-senpai, of course!"

Sousuke's left eyebrow twitches and a muscle jumps in his jaw.

Haru coughs to smother a chuckle. “Thoughtful of you, Momo."

Momo beams. "That's what Nii-san said."

Haru can’t help but wonder if Momo consulted Seijuro in the matter of how to best apologise to Sousuke.

"Well, you have to adopt him now, Sou-chan," Nagisa adds. "It's only right."

Sousuke struggles visibly not to recoil as the beetle crawls out of the box. "Don't have time for a pet."

"He has the biggest pincers of his clutch," Momo states, plucking the beetle up before it can scuttle across Sousuke's plate. "I bred him myself and handfed—well, finger-fed—him until he was big enough to feed himself and turn into the virile _beast_ you see before you now." He rubs a finger under his nose and sniffs, holding the beetle to his eye level with a smile that belongs on the elated mother of a child prodigy. "I was going to make him my breeding male next season but…I want you to have him, Yamazaki-senpai. I promise, he's easy to take care of. All you have to do is make sure the lid on his cage is shut so he doesn't escape. Stag beetles are even more low maintenance than fish!"

"Yeah, fine," Sousuke mutters, with a quick, pained glance at Haru. "I'll find somewhere for him."

"Yes!" Momo cheers, turning his hand over as the beetle shuffles along his skin. "Pyun-pyun power! Look at him go, Haruka-senpai!"

"Impressive," Haru comments without shifting his gaze from Sousuke.

"A heartfelt gift," Nagisa adds, adding fuel to the fire. He slings an arm around Sousuke's shoulders with a mischievous grin, and when Sousuke makes no move to pry him off, he pats Sousuke's head. "Congratulations, Sou-chan. You just became a father."

Sousuke grunts noncommittally. A thoughtful, calculating expression flickers across his face as Momo slides the beetle back into the box carefully, cooing to it lovingly, then replaces the lid.

Momo holds the box out to Sousuke again, smiling from ear to ear. "He's all yours!"

"…Thanks." Sousuke forces a nod of gratitude, ignoring Nagisa's giggle. The radio strapped to his right shoulder crackles with static and Nagisa jolts in alarm, releasing Sousuke.

Rin's voice filters through, pitched with urgency. " _Sousuke, are you there_?"

Sousuke holds down a button and tugs the radio closer to his mouth. "Yeah. What is it?"

" _I need you back here straight away_ ," Rin says in a rush. " _Mikoshiba left for the night and we have a code 245. It's an emergency_."

Rin in a crisis is a person Haru refuses to associate with; he’s comically tragic in his melodrama, and he has a habit of dragging everyone else down into a panic with him. Haru almost pities Sousuke for having to put up with Rin personally and professionally, but he extinguishes that line of thought before it can show on his face.

Rin is the person he should sympathise with for having a partner like Sousuke, not the other way around. He doesn’t need more exposure to Sousuke to know that for certain.

"On my way." Sousuke clicks the radio off. "Shit."

Nagisa blinks. "Aren't you off-duty tonight, Sou-chan…?"

Sousuke chuckles, standing from the chair. "No such thing. Always on call."

He scoops up the box, then locks gazes with Haru. Something in his eyes says that this isn’t the last time they’ll see each other, that their paths will inexorably cross again. Haru wonders what he has left to prove, whether Sousuke is prepared to swallow his pride a second time.

He nods wordlessly and collects the empty plate, eyes sliding away from Sousuke.

Momo scurries off to the kitchen before the inevitable torrent of tears hits. Nagisa follows after him hurriedly, snagging a box of tissues on the way and muttering about Momo’s habit of anthropomorphising bugs, leaving Haru alone with Sousuke.

“Your team,” Sousuke remarks as he locates his jacket. “It’s eclectic.”

Haru shrugs. “They do good work.” He pauses, tilts his eyes towards the kitchen, and smiles to himself fondly. “Mostly.”

“Yeah.” Hesitation marks the shift of Sousuke’s feet, one in front of the other. He lingers over the threshold of the door, glancing at Haru over his shoulder as if he forgot something important, torn between wariness and contrition. His forehead creases and his lips twitch. “Nanase—"

He corrects Sousuke before the words register in his head: “It’s Haru.”

Sousuke’s expression smooths out again. He smirks, taking the wind out of Haru’s sails. “See you, Haru.”

* * *

Rin should be habituated to Sousuke’s thunderous entrances by now but his heart still almost beats out of his chest when the office door flies open with such force that it makes the glass panels tremble. Sousuke is visibly winded from his jog, chest heaving and a line of sweat trickling down his temple.

He only ever emerges from his natural, power-saving sloth mode when there’s an emergency. Truth be told, it’s the reason he’s the most valuable asset to Rin’s team. That sharp mind roused by a sense of purpose is more dangerous than Nagisa armed with sensitive information about Haru’s ticklish zones, and Rin considers that knowledge hard-won. The phantom pain never quite left his ribs after Haru drove an elbow into them with unnecessary force and knocked the breath out of him.

Sousuke gazes at Rin intensely, still catching his breath. Rin's eyes zero in on the box tucked under Sousuke's arm.

"You're still sitting on your ass?” Sousuke demands. “Let's go." He pauses and re-appraises Rin, and his eyes narrow. “Rin...”

A flood of mild guilt consumes Rin, but he's committed himself to the ruse. After all, Sousuke pulled far worse pranks on him when they shared a dorm at the academy. Rin still can’t find it in himself to forgive Sousuke for swapping out his hair gel with toothpaste. The flour in Rin’s hairdryer was a blatant call for _war_.

He holds the stare unwaveringly, crossing his arms doggedly.

"There's no emergency," Sousuke says sourly, more statement than a question.

"Technically, no." Rin swaps tactics and offers his most guileless grin. "I had to get you back here somehow."

“You fucker.” Sousuke's resigned sigh suggests his grudging acceptance of Rin's tendency to over-exaggerate. "You're unbelievable."

"You bail on me to go hang out with your mortal enemy? And _I'm_ the one who's unbelievable here?" Rin drawls. "You have some nerve, Sousuke."

Sousuke closes the door behind him, then takes his seat on the other side of the table, reminding Rin that they're still no closer to a solution for their shared-desk problem.

"Do you have a home? Or do you just live here?"

"I had some catch-up to do since someone spends his salaried hours trying to drive me to an early grave."

"Feeling's mutual."

Rin jabs an index finger at Sousuke.

"More importantly,” he says, stressing the syllables of each word, “what is _that_? Haru is giving you presents now?"

Extensive first-hand experience has taught him to be wary of anything that comes from Haru and his merry band of morons in the guise of a gift. He sweeps up and down Sousuke’s body, finding no outward signs of injury. Maybe Haru fed him a slow-acting poison instead of opting for the obvious, more damning choice. It fits with Haru’s overall inconspicuous profile if he spends his nights moonlighting as a serial killer, which Rin has considered before given Haru’s proclivity to mete out his own brand of justice.

There’s a silence while Sousuke seems to deliberate his answer. Then he smirks and sets the box on Rin's desk carefully, as though its contents are delicate. “It’s for you.”

Rin blinks, perplexed. “Me?”

“Consider it a peace offering,” Sousuke says. “Going home.”

“Wait,” Rin demands, standing abruptly. Makoto’s infuriatingly mature advice has been echoing in his head all night, a reminder that the onus is on him to remedy the problems plaguing their working relationship. He smothers a sigh, bolstered by Makoto’s words, the sense they made. What they need is a middle ground. “Want to work out tomorrow morning?”

Sousuke grunts evasively on his way to the door, dodging the offer as easily as he did the ride earlier.

Rin flounders for an incentive. “And pork rolls for breakfast on me.”

Sousuke eyes him balefully. “Eight.”

“Seven thirty,” Rin counters, folding his arms indignantly.

“Seven forty-five.”

Rin pauses, his lips stretching into a triumphant smirk. “Done. And don’t forget your boxing gloves.”

* * *

“Oh, no,” Nagisa croons with feigned concern, throwing himself across the counter. Haru turns his eyes from the sink nearly overflowing with bubbles to see Nagisa retrieve something from his apron pocket. He brandishes it with a victorious grin. “Sou-chan forgot his badge.”

Haru snatches the badge from him, resisting the urge to donate the entire contents of Nagisa’s dessert pantry to the nearest dumpster.

“Now it’s a two-week ban,” he says, ignoring Nagisa’s cry of agony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://sierrasuke.tumblr.com/) ◇ [twitter](https://twitter.com/sierrasuke)
> 
> thank you so much for the feedback so far--especially people who took the time to message me on tumblr. it means a lot and keeps me writing. i love interacting with you so please feel free to hit me up anywhere. 
> 
> hope you enjoyed! (also it won't be a year until the next update /hit)


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